Hetalia Dump
by Xynostaph
Summary: Just a bunch of drabbles and ideas that have no place in any fanfiction. So i'll just dump them here. Enjoy!


**Author's notes:**

This is basically just a dump of storie parts and drabbles that i will never finish, and just want to share them with my darling little sarah~! She always wants more from me, so i thought this would be the best way to give her what she wants.

So! Let's start this large thing off with something horribly depressing, shall we? Un-beta'd and just quick checking, so i apologize for any crapy wording or spelling errors~

Disclaimer: I own nothing~

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><p>England felt the blood race up his throat, spurting through his fingers as his hand covered his mouth, trying to stop it from showing. It felt like he was choking on warm syrup, one which tasted of iron. It was a disturbing taste, really.<p>

"ENGLAND!"

The cry echoed within his ears like a cave, bouncing around until he couldn't pinpoint where it came from. His legs gave out beneath him and he fell, arms barely covering his head before he hit the concrete, teeth and brain rattling at the impact. There were noises. _Oh_, so many noises. It hurt his head.

_Make it stop, please._

"E-ENGLAND!"

_The noises. So painful…_

"ARTHUR!"

_Make it stop. Make it stop. It hurts too much._

Shapes and colors assaulted his blurring vision, his head pounding with a renewed energy. Voices were blurring, mixing together to form an orchestra of sounds he could not identify. Then, it all died down as a pair of hands griped his head, eyes locking with a pair of windows to the bluest skies he had ever seen. _So pretty…_

"Arthur! Hey! Stay with me! Come on! Don't- Just stay with me!"

"Alfred…"

The word left his lips before he could process whose voice that was. Alfred. His Alfred. No… Not his Alfred. Not anymore. _Never was_, a voice piped up from the background noise, making his body ache in a different, but no less painful way. The hands were warm, so warm… It was nice. Calming. Peaceful. It made him feel safe, a feeling he hadn't had since Britannia died.

"Alfred." He said once more, testing to see if his voice still worked. Thank god it did. He had an urge to explain something to Alfred. Something he hadn't thought about in centuries.

"Do you know…? Where your name comes from?" He asked, trying to focus on the skies of blue staring down at him, overcast with worry and despair. Was the sky worried about him? It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Something cared. Something actually cared about him. He heard a hiccup, soft yet booming above all of the background noise.

"You can tell me later. Just stay awake, ok? Focus on my voice."

_I always have…_ Arthur thought bemusedly, a smile forcing its way onto bloodstained lips.

"You were named after the only king of England ever to be named 'the great'." England said, remember the king with a fondness one would give towards their family. The hands left his face, leaving them colder than before. How silly. He chuckled dryly, feeling a wave of pain crash over him. He could do nothing but groan softly, irritated at the prodding of something in his side. But he had to continue, since America would never actually do research. And it would be a shame to not explain to him the details. "He was the fifth son of the current king, a man who I respected, but not cared for particularly. His other sons were in turn respectful towards me, even when I appeared to be nothing but a child. But Alfred…"

England cut off, something that tasted like nostalgia gripping at his throat, a bittersweet taste that he both loved and hated.

"A-Arthur... Please... Don't talk..." Alfred murmured above him, his voice cracking with emotion Arthur paid no mind to. He was going to continue, whether the younger nation wanted to hear or not.

"Alfred was a foolish idiot who cared not for who I really was. He was loud and headstrong, and determined to make a name for himself. Being the fifth son, he didn't expect to be king. He trained to be a knight, powerful and brave, and wanted to save everyone from the Vikings that were invading at the time." Arthur continued. The memories of the young king, eyes like the bark of his favorite trees, and hair the color of tilled soil made him smile, though he could not get the smile to feel completely carefree. "He became king after his brothers all died from fighting the vikings, and even though he was defeated at Wessex, he was determined to save his people.

"He was only twenty-one when he was crowned king, yet he was both younger and older than that silly number. Wise beyond his years, but with a childish amusement and energy to do things that I had been jealous of from time to time. He was a bit high strung, with the weight of the fate of his people on his shoulders, but he was always in good humor, even when no one else was. Or could be." Arthur paused, remembering the man standing amidst his soldiers, drinking happily before a campaign north. He had been there, to watch over the king, and had to drag him back to his tent. When the man finally had collapsed upon his blankets, he had refused to let go of the young nation.

Arthur laughed, hollow and empty, before continuing, eyes dulled as he recollected the wonderful moments. "He was so drunk he could barely speak."

Arthur then swallowed thickly, copper-tang disgusting him. "But... When he refused to let me go, he seemed different. Older. More nervous, but determined. Even fully drunk, he could tell I was nervous. The vikings had taken over nearly everything, and if it continued I would soon fade away, to be no more."

Alfred couldn't swallow as his throat clenched at the thought. The idea of Arthur not being here scared him. More than he liked to admit.

"He looked me straight in the eye, and he said...

_'Artie. Are you scared?'_

_Of course, I grew embarrassed and angry, being confronted by my drunken king. but I realed it in, simply responding with a __'no.'_

_He laughed, and it nearly broke my heart. I could see he was holding down his own despair. He knew what would happen if we did not win soon. If we did not start taking back our land from the vikings._

_'I am.'_

_I had been shocked when he said that. Him, Alfred, my king, the one who I had never seen scared before in his life, who I had never seen shed a tear, was admitting that he was scared._

_'you have no need to be.' I had answered, still shocked at his reveal. Alfred had chuckled at that, and had released my arm, though I didn't move away. He looked... So broken. For the first time, I saw worry lines. Dark circles under his eyes. His hunched, almost tired posture._

_'But you do. I fear for you, Artie.'_

_I had never liked his nickname for me, something you both came up with. How you did I would never know, and the first time you said it shook me to the core. You two were the only ones who have ever come up with that as a way to greet me._

_I asked him why, crouching to look up at the man i watched turn from boy to child, from dreamer to king. He reached out, his hands covering my own, and grinned at me, revealing tear-streaked cheeks that choked my heart and made my soul cry._

_'I do not wish you to dissapear. You are my friend. My brother. You are all I have left to call family.'_

_This statement scared and excited me, a mixture that was too tempting to refuse. I had never been cared about by a human before. They were respectful, but they dared not get to close to me. I was different. In those times... Different was looked down upon._

_'Why do you care so much?' I had asked softly, trying to use the edge of his blanket to clean the tears from Alfred's face. 'I am a country. Land. Food. Not family. Not a human. I am different from you.'_

_'You were the only one who was always there.' He answered, looking completely serious, which caused me to pause. I had not realized it, but it was indeed true. While his brothers and father faught for rights to the throne, he had been outside with me, learning the basics of knighthood and at night letting me tell him stories of the stars and of creatures none but me could see. As he grew older, I was always beside him, encouraging him along when it got hard and grounding him before he got too big a head._

_'It will not always be that way.' I had replied, seemingly thinking nothing else would be a valid response. But he smiled, and god- it was such a smile that I had never seen before, on anyone, and it stole my breath as he hugged me, and said simply;_

_'It will be. I'll make sure of it. I shall not lose you too.'_

He had let go after that, resting his head upon my shoulder as he spoke of everything he had bottled up until then. Hopes, fears, plans and ideas for the future of his people. He talked himself sober, and then into sleep."

Arthur chuckled, remembering something he had forgotten. "At one point, while we were hiding in the marshes of Somerset, he had been in the cooking area, and was told to watch some cakes. But, being him, he became distracted, and when he finally remembered to check them, they were burned beyond recognition. King or not, the cook ripped him a new one when he found out. Good ol' Michael..."

"Arthur-"

Alfred was cut off by Arthur's soft laugh turning into a coughing fit, flecks of blood covering the british man's hand and part of Alfred's bomber jacket.

"He was an amazing strategist, you know." Arthur said, continuing with his rant. He paid no attention to the numbing of his body, or to the darkness seeping into his peripheral vision. He was lost in his memories, a ghost of a smile slipping through the pain. "He had actually adopted the Dane's tactics, and had started guerrilla warfare against the Danes. We soon won Edington, and were on a roll...

_It seemed as though his promise to keep me alive was what caused him so much renewed hope and energy, though I think it partly on his advisors, who helped come up with the change of tactics. He claimed victory again and again, fighting with a determination I was both proud and awed by. He and his small army pushed them all back to Chippenham, and had kept them trapped inside the fortress until they ran out of supplies and sought peace. Alred was smart enough to know that the Danes would not be leaving England completely, so he made a peace treaty with them. He was the godfather to King Guthrum when he was converted to Christianity. Many of the Danes settled in peacefully as farmers after that. _

_Alfred then married a woman named Eahlswith, a Mercian noblewoman, and had married other daughters of high powered danes to high positioned people of our own. The effect was almost immediate, as the Danes integrated and were peaceful for the most part. _

_Alfred was so nervous on his wedding day. I swear, I had almost had to tie him down, since he was wearing a hole in the carpet from his constant pacing. But the wedding was beautiful, and his worries were for not. She was a nice woman too, though a bit soft spoken. She was lovely with clothes though, and always seemed to make me something for special occasions. It was... Touching._

_Alfred, finally focusing on something other than battles, realized that the fighting with the Vikings had left learning nothing more than a far off dream to most people, as the monaseries were destroyed constantly. Latin had become something not many could read, and Alfred came up with the genious idea to actually translate a handful of books he thought were most important. _

_'Aren't you tired? You've done enough for today, Alfred.' I said during one of the many nights i found him in his study leaning over parchment and paper, reading and writing slowly, translating Latin to Anglo-Saxon. He looked up at me with a weary grin, and had laughed, waving me over. _

_Once i was within reach, he slung his arm over my shoulders and put the pen down, grinning at me in such a way that it made me worry that he had a stupid plan. But instead, he simply placed our forheads together and said; __'One can never do enough for his people and country. To put them first is the top priority of the king, be it labor or intensive enough to cause such a man pain. To have that pain is a pride, to show that he has worked for his people and land, and had pain to prove his love.'_

_I rolled my eyes, recognizing shat when someone spoke it. Really, he had just had a fight with Eahlswith, which made me laugh. He was a proud and feared man, yet he cowered when his wife was angry at him. On confronting him, he pouted like a disobedient child, which made it all the more amusing._

_'Tis not funny, Artie. She truly could put a dragon back in it's egg should she not but glare at the foul thing.' He mumbled, rubbing his beard as he looked down at the half-filled parchment. _

_'Ah, but to do so is a gift, should a beast as such appear before your door. Surely that proves more useful than spears and swords.' I had teased, earning me a glare that made me laugh harder than it should. It felt like old times, when he was but a child messing and pushing me to do things with him._

Alfred... He died when he was fifty. A calm death. No pain. It was proper. He was respected and beloved by his people, and by others, due to his alliances with the Welsh and Danes. I..."

Arthur looked towards the right, away from the pair of eyes that stared down at him in such away it felt as if he was being scrutinized.

"I had never felt as sad and alone as I did when he died. He was one of a kind. He had done so much, and even at his funeral the clouds had covered the sky, like God himself was mourning the loss of the great man. Not one blue sky was seen for a week after his death, and rightly so. It took many weeks for all of my people to stop mourning."

Arthur looked back up at the American holding him, eyes sliding closed even further.

"Arthur... How long until you stopped mourning?" Alfred asked tentatively, earning a sniffle from the englishman.

"I..." Arthur stopped, trying to clear his throat of the lump that refused to move. "I had never stopped mourning. No king or queen had ever been able to replace Alfred."

Arthur than raised a hand, one surprisingly clean of blood, and placed it gently against Alfred's face, grinning up at the man with a soft fondness that had Alfred fighting off a wave of tears.

"Then you came along. You were so small, but so full of life. You may not have looked like him, but it was as if you were my dear friend and king reborn. It overwhelmed me with both misery and joy. I knew that you were not him... but the way you acted, the way you talked... It seemed right for you to have his name. To share the lineage of _'Alfred the Great_', in some small way. I guess it was the right thing to do."

"Huh?"

"You reach for the stars, as did he. You have brought great honor on that name, and I am incredibly thankful for that. You do his memory proud, Alfred." His name falling from Arthur's lips was like a hint of paradise, the word seeming so natural that Alfred held Arthur closer, refusing to relinquish his grip. "You do my memory proud as well."

"Arthur-!" Alfred said warningly, noticing the lack of volume in Arthur's voice.

"I could not have hoped for better from you. You do _me_ proud, Alfred."

"But...!"

Arthur shushed him, his look far away and lost in time. A time Alfred could not reach, no matter how hard he tried. "I have always believed you would do great things. Yes, it was selfish of me to try and stop you from independence. I was an old fool who didn't want to lose yet another person dear to my heart. I suppose my guilt at having tried to shove you back under my thumb is what embarrasses me the most about your birthday. Forgive me, I am behind on many things, it seems. Including gifts for all the years i've missed."

"Arthur, it's fine, it's ok, really, it's all ok, it is! I don't care about the presents, really! Please, just- focus on staying awake, please, you can't just, i mean, we're countries, so-"

"Not even countries are invulnerable. Or Immortal." Arthur murmured, patting Alfred's cheek before letting his hand slide down to grip at his shirt.

"Please, please, _please_, Arthur, don't, please, it's ok, it'll all be ok, I mean..." Alfred couldn't stop the sob that escaped, his tears landing on Arthur below him.

"_For every good gift and every power soon grows old and is no more heard of._" Arthur murmured, looking up and gripping Alfred's shirt all the tighter. "Alfred said that himself once. Though I know I quote it out of context. Something about wisdom was in there. Somewhere."

"Arthur. You aren't going to die."

"Really?" Arthur asked, already feeling the soft embrace of unconciousness, and possibly even oblivion.

Alfred nodded without hesitation. Arthur admired his determination, something that reminded him of the Alfred of long ago.

"I'll make sure of it. I won't lose you." Alfred confirmed, earning a shocked expression from Arthur.

_I'll make sure of it. I shall not lose you too._

Well damn. Now he was hallucinating.

"Try not to be too dissapointed then, love." Arthur murmured, closing his eyes. He could hear Alfred's frantic talk, and felt himself jostled and man handled. But he had no energy to lift his eyes, to gaze at the skies of blue once more. How he missed those skies...


End file.
